


Blue bird, bring my love home

by innsaei



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Killing, M/M, Marriage, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Serial Killer, Swearing, Torture, Violence, alternate universe: flower of evil fusion/adaptation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innsaei/pseuds/innsaei
Summary: As a detective, Iwaizumi had always considered himself to be never wrong, at least morally. It was his job to save the living and to ensure that the dead get their due justice.Oikawa, on the other hand, had never considered himself to be right, or even exist in the spectrum of morally correct. He was tainted with the lives of people buried six feet under the ground. But it had been okay because he didn't exist and he hadn't been existing for years now.That is until Iwaizumi realizes, 9 years into his marriage, that he doesn't really know who the man he loves is.And Oikawa realizes he can never run from his past.So where does it begin, how Iwaizumi protects the world from Oikawa Tooru, or rather how he protects Oikawa Tooru from the world?
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	1. The hurricane underneath my name

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I have tagged enough, I will still try to tone down the description of violence or graphic imagery.  
> That being said, this is an adaptation of one of my favourite drama, Flower of evil. I hope I can do justice to the original storyline and I hope you enjoy this!

_The cold, dirty water fills his lungs as he sinks deeper, the ropes pulling him lower with every passing second. His shirt is wet, clinging to his body and he feels the cold suffocating him, numbing him._

_The sleep comes in waves, lulling him._

_He isn’t here, he isn’t here and he still isn’t here._

* 

Sunlight filters into the room, bouncing off the unpolished silver blades stacked neatly on the counter sending rainbow flashes on the wall. There is soft music drifting around the room, dulling the rolling sound of the vinyl record player on the table. Iwaizumi leans back a little on the table smiling into the kiss as his husband’s strong arms wrap around his waist and closes the gap between them.

The button on his husband’s apron presses into his chest and he attempts to shift before delicate fingers thread through his hair and keep him in place stubbornly causing a laugh to slip in between the kisses. Ignoring the dull stab, he deepens the kiss, their lips moving in sync, the familiar feelings coursing through his mind. His lips are soft, with the slightly sweet taste of honey from the evening tea and Iwaizumi sighs with a slight smile as he feels Akira’s soft tickle of breath beneath his nose, his delicate fingers gently moving up and lifting his chin up. 

Breaking off, his husband gently plants a soft peck on his nose before resting his forehead on Iwaizumi’s. 

“And yet again, I am late for work.” He whispers giving a quick glance at the clock on the wall as the music comes to a stop slowly fading out.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have put me in the mood then, right?”

Akira accuses playfully before stepping back and grabbing Iwaizumi’s coat for him and handing it. 

Glaring half-heartedly, Iwaizumi takes the coat before grabbing his identity card and moving towards the door.

“Please dress up Yuki for me and pick the one with a noticeable brand logo. I’ll quickly go down to the station and sign off some papers.” He opens the door before turning back. “ Let’s try not to be late okay?.”

“It’s just dinner. You know you don’t have to worry so much about it, right?”

Iwaizumi scoffs before slipping into his outside shoes.

“Who said I’m worried? I am just being more meticulous than you are.”

Akira raises an eyebrow, placing his palms on the counter and leaning towards the direction of his husband as he playfully ignores him and steps outside.

“I’m going now. Don’t forget what I said and keep those eyebrows down.”

He calls out closing the door and as the wind chimes above moves gently in the aftermath, the evening light falls on the name plaque highlighting the words embossed in golden letters. 

_Where the rising star resides_

Akira looks at it for a moment, the window pain reflecting his face and the laughter wrinkles disappear leaving behind an unreadable face.

  
  


_*_

Akira turns towards Iwaizumi sitting nervously on the passenger side, his fingers a little bit too clamped tightly for his liking. 

“Do you really want to do this, Hajime? If it makes you uncomfortable, we can just turn around and go to Yuki’s favourite restaurant. Right, Yuki?”, he glances at the rearview mirror smiling at his daughter. “Do you want to go have egg tarts instead?”

Iwaizumi smiles, quite ineffective in hiding the nervousness in his eyes.

“Why would I feel uncomfortable? Besides, we need to have dinner with your parents every now and then”, he places his hand on Akira’s before sighing quietly. If Akira feels his fingertips tremble ever-so-slightly, he doesn’t say a word and instead wraps Iwizumi’s hand in his before lifting it up to kiss the back of his hand softly.

Yuki stirs slightly from the back as they pull up to the driveway. Shifting towards the edge, she pastes her face on the rolled-up window before quietly muttering, “Obaa-chan is always so scary.”

Akira steps out of the car before opening Yuki’s door and lifting her up.

“If Obaa-chan gets too scary, just tell papa and we will go home okay?” 

He gives a quick glance at Iwaizumi who is already walking slowly towards his parents. They are grim-faced as always, their lips stretched into thin lines staring unforgivingly at him. Ignoring the all too readable eyes of his parents, he smiles at his daughter carrying her and fixing her dress.

From the driveway to the dining hall, there are no sounds except their footsteps echoing back to them and Akira pulls his husband closer, giving a comforting smile. Iwaizumi is so concentrated on not making a mistake even while walking that he barely registers it.

The cake is already on the table when they enter and Yuki jumps down from his arms, clapping as she climbs up on the chair and looks at him adoringly.

“Papa, look. It’s your birthday cake.” She reaches out to grab a cherry, almost falling flat face into the cake before Akira catches her, laughing. Only then, Iwaizumi’s nervousness seems to dissipate as he looks lovingly at his husband before lighting the candle and placing it in front of his husband.

“Happy birthday, love.”

He smiles at his brunette who is looking at him with his familiar warm copper-rimmed eyes, the autumn tone in them shining brighter under the yellow light. Akira smiles before nodding at him and placing his hand on his thigh as they settle down in their seats. Both of them turn towards the side at the screeching sound of the chair. Yuki is standing on top of it, her smile stretching all the way to her eyes at the undivided attention she now commands from her parents.

“Papa, your birthday gift is-’, she gives a dramatic pause earning a laugh from his parents. “- me. Sachio Yuki.” She does a heart with her short arms, giggling as her father tickles her.

Iwaizumi quietly places a box on the table, nudging his husband slightly before whispering, “And here’s my gift.”

Akira picks up the box opening it gently, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Inside, kept on a soft white cushion, is an elegant pair of watch straps. He holds them between his fingers before turning sideways and pressing a kiss on Iwaizumi’s cheek, completely blocking out the two pairs of eyes staring at him. 

“I love it. Thank you so much.”, he places one of the watch straps on top of his wrist to show Iwaizumi how it fits.

In front of them, his parents sit silently watching the trio in their own bubble and it is a few more minutes till his mother clears her throat before ‘accidentally’ moving the fork across the china plate rudely cutting through the unadulterated laughter in the room.

The laughter disappears into another suffocating silence with only Yuki’s fork stabbing into the cake on her side plate when Iwaizumi’s phone ringtone pierces through it. Fumbling, he opens it and silently curses upon seeing the caller ID.

“Chief”, he covers his mouth leaning sideways, aware of the anger barely concealed in Akira’s mother’s eyes. “Did something happen? Should I come down to the station right now?”

A sharp voice rings out from the other side of the call and he grimly disconnects, his mind working in all different ways to come up with an apology.

“I am so sorry but something-”

“Do you want me to drop you off?”, Akira cuts him off, getting up from his chair and gesturing towards Iwaizumi with his eyes to not bother apologizing.

“No, no. It’s okay, Detective Yahaba is going to be here anytime soon. You stay here and spend some time with mother and father.”, he turns around apologetically and bows. “I really did want to have dinner with you but a new case has come up. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. Goodnight then.”

Akira quietly squeezes his hand comforting him as he leaves and Iwaizumi feels a pang of regret at not being able to spend the night with him on his birthday. He makes a mental note to give him a surprise later. Quietly he steps out and pulls out his detective ID card, running his thumb briefly over it.

Iwaizumi Hajime

Senior Detective, Violent Crimes Division

Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department

Putting it around his neck, he jogs to the entrance, not surprised to see his junior already waiting there. For someone in the law enforcement agency, Yahaba was one step away from getting jailed for his driving speed. 

He gives a brief nod opening the passenger side door and getting in, immediately greeted by the blast of cold air from the A.C.

“Did dinner go well, Senpai?”, the junior quips while reversing the car. The muffled sound of engines revving and car tyres rolling on the path fill the silence from Iwaizumi and Yahaba glances at him before answering his question himself, “I’m guessing not. Should we grab something to drink on the way?”

“Yes, please. I really don’t understand them”, he abruptly turns towards his junior taking the other by surprise. “I am very amicable with everyone, I have a stable job and I have never done anything outrageous by in-law standards. Why is it that they can barely tolerate me? Do I not look friendly?”

“Uh-”, Yahaba gives a nervous smile, his eyes deadly focused on an empty road, “I’ll agree with everything but you really--do look intimidating?”. 

He instinctively leans away smiling to himself cheekily.

“This kid-”

Iwaizumi raises his arm in a motion to knock his head before sighing and leaning towards the window.

“The dinners seem to progressively get worse every time and his mother seems to only hate me more every time we meet”, he sighs pressing his temple. “Also, did a case have to happen today of all days?”

“It’s an attempted murder of a kid by his father apparently. I’ll give you the briefing once we get there. The journalists are swarming the hospital where the kid is kept right now.”

“Jesus Christ.By the father?”

“The kid woke up and the first thing he did was accuse his father so we just have the victim’s testimony right now.”

“It’s going to be a long night again, isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi finds himself instinctively typing out a message to Akira as the car picks up speed on the highway.

_ >Yuki has school tomorrow. Please make sure she sleeps early tonight. I might be late. _

The reply comes back even before he locks his phone and Iwaizumi does a mental cheer, happy that his husband still chooses to text him immediately despite being with that dragon lady. It’s only when he sees Yahaba looking at him weirdly does he wipe off the silly grin on his face. 

_ > She has already slept. _

_ >Dont’ worry about us. Come home safe. _

He laughs quietly at the sticker Akira had added, it was so like him yet so not like him. But his husband was someone he had been discovering for the past thirteen years.

Outside the city lights of Tokyo dot the landscape dimming the night sky and Iwaizumi tucks away his phone, rolling down the window ignoring Watari’s silent protest and complaint about the A.C being on. He leans out, feeling the wind whip across his face as they drive down the flyover towards another storm.

A father attempting to murder his own son? It is bound to make the headlines tomorrow and Iwaizumi grimaces as he calculates the workload that is suddenly about to increase. 

“But Sunbae, don’t you think Sachio-san is so unlike his parents?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you keep complaining about how his parents detest-,” he pauses at the glare he gets from his senior and scrambles to find a better word. “Uhm, act cold towards you. But Sachio-san is so calm and friendly, he even sends meals for all of us at night.”

Iwaizumi turns around and smiles softly in the dark as the sight of his warm brown-eyed husband playing with his daughter flashes in his mind.

Yahaba was right. 

In their four years of dating and nine years of marriage, he had never seen Akira lose his temper at someone or be even slightly rude. In many ways, Iwaizumi had to deal with ruthless, senseless criminals all the time, and coming home to his husband was his comfort bubble. If the world is black and white, Akira is the point where the colours converged.

He, with his soft brown hair, eyes filled with the warmth of an everlasting hearth and that childlike smile mirroring their daughter’s, is his lighthouse and Iwaizumi knows that because of the world that he dives into every morning when he steps into his office, he will go insane if Akira isn’t there to come back home to. It is as if Akira exists in his life to remind him that there exists something good, someplace safe.

“Yes, he is”, he nods. “He is poles apart from them. They aren’t even close to a ghost of who he is or how he is. Sometimes, I even wonder how it can be possible.”

He subconsciously twists his wedding ring, admiring the way it perfectly fits even after nine years of marriage.It’s like it grew with them. Loving people isn’t easy but loving Akira had never been difficult. It was as if he was handmade for Iwaizumi to love and keep. 

“Akira is-”, he leans back, closing his eyes for a short nap,”-warm.”

  
  
  
  


*

Yuki sleeps peacefully in her father’s arms, her yellow dress bunched up and her fingers clutching his sleeves. She had quietly gobbled up her dinner, barely looking up and only when her plate had been taken away, obediently she had climbed into his arms. Not a sound made, not a single complaint, much like Iwaizumi, she too was trying to get her grandmother’s approval. 

He rocks her gently, smiling down at her sleeping face for a moment before looking up. 

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. You could have simply made an excuse. All this tension, doesn’t it suffocate you?”

His voice is low, cutting across the still air in the room.

Sachio Yui squints her eyes at him, the pitch blackness of her pupils a striking contrast against the white pearls around her neck, sitting daintily.

“What? Are you testing us? What kind of mother doesn’t attend her son’s birthday?”, she scoffs as Akira sniggers lightly across the table. “Do you think you can do anything now? Do you think this life is yours?”

“How can I, mother? How can I do that-,” he leans forward, all traces of warmth gone from his tone. The Akira now is not the one Iwaizumi sleeps next to every night. His copper rimmed eyes no longer have the lighter flecks around them and if Yuki were to wake up at that moment, she would find herself in the arms of a stranger.”-when it was never mine, to begin with?”

Yui glares at him as he continues without batting an eye.

“My life has always been yours, hasn’t it been, _mother_?” 

The tone doesn’t escape her and she laughs incredulously, throwing her head back and pushing the china plate away from her.

“The nerve you have.If it hadn’t been for me-,” 

The loud startling bang of a wine glass being slammed down on the table cuts her off, silencing both of them. Sachio Ito sighs, balling his hands into a fist before looking up.

“Stop. All of us are in the same boat. If you both keep going back and forth, we are going to end sending each other to our graves.” He pointedly looks at his wife before turning towards Akira who had an unreadable look with one corner of his lips lifted up in a mocking smile.

“We don’t want to pick a fight with you tonight. We just want your honesty.”

“And what is that for?”, the sneering tone doesn’t escape the both of them as Akira leans back on the chair, his hand gently covering Yuki’s ears.

Sighing, Dr. Ito straightens up before staring straight at Akira.

“You even got a daughter through surrogacy now. We were against your marriage but you went ahead and now you added another one to your _family_.”, he spits out the word making sure Akira catches on to it. If the brunette does, he doesn’t show any sign of it.

“Are you sure you haven’t developed any special feelings for your husband? It no longer looks like an act to us.”

Yui looks at him hesitantly, all traces of her earlier outbursts gone and now her eyes probe his face endlessly. Her lower lips tremble as she looks at her son’s face under the lowlights, searching. A hint, a single hint if any.

Akira doesn’t break eye contact with his father as he presses his palms down firmly on his daughter’s ears to cover them before muttering in a low firm tone.

“I don’t. Do I have to repeat this every time we meet?”

“Your husband is a detective. How naive do you take him to be? How can you be so sure he won’t find out?”

Akira’s face morphs and Yui presses her fingernails into the palm of her hand. 

Outside the headlight of a passing car sweeps over them illuminating Akira’s face and she sees the ghost of a smile come and go in his eyes. It was there and it isn’t there anymore but she feels the erratic beating of her heart increase in panic. 

“Because,” he answers slowly,“-Hajime believes what he sees. And I show him what he wants to see.”

  
  
  


*

“So can you tell me more about the relationship between your son and your husband? Any strictness which isn’t normal or like any, you know,father-son animosity?”

“Huh?”

Kuroo scratches his head staring at his notes jotted haphazardly across the diary with no relevant, headline-worthy information yet. The woman was lost and unable to answer even basic questions. He looks up, quickly taking in her disheveled state. Buttons at the wrong place, hair out of place and stuck to her forehead, her fingers tightly pressed together to numb the trembling even as the small table shakes under the relentless movement of her knees. She looked like any other victim or family member of a victim who had suffered from a heinous crime. 

“Senpai, can you please come with me?”

A hand presses down on his shoulder as the familiar voice of detective Yahaba comes from behind him. Nodding. Kuroo gets up and bows to the woman before turning around and meeting an amused yet disapproving gaze.

He yelps quietly as Yahaba practically drags him by his sleeves to the other end of the hospital’s reception and pushes him down on the cold metal bench.

“Okay Okay, I get it.”He rubs his wrist, straightening his sleeves. “You know how much I love these types. It’s literally trending on search engines right now and if I get a scoop-”

“Senpai, the woman just had her husband almost murder her son.”

Kuroo purses his lips before sighing and giving in to Yahaba’s disapproval. The young detective was relatively new but he was pretty bold to say what’s on his mind all the time and he knew this is why detective Iwaizumi had agreed to be his mentor.

“I understand. I’ll wait for a bit, it’s not like I have anything to cover right now.”

Yahaba thumbs something into his phone before pausing and looking up.

“What about that case?”, he pouts his lips trying to remember, “the one of some village. The serial murder case?”

“Hinohara tragedy?”

Kuroo inquires skeptically as he feels the hair on his arms stands up on its own sending a chill down his own spine.

“AH! Yes. That case.” Yahaba nods enthusiastically. “Your articles on it are quite interesting even though it’s a cold case now. I couldn’t believe something like that can happen in our country.”

“Well, it was horrible. The whole village-” Kuroo’s voice fades away as he runs the name of the village again in his head.

“Did you say something?”

“What?”, he widens his eyes, snapping back to find Yahaba looking at him curiously, “Oh nothing.”

He fiddles with the pen in his hand, his mind suddenly thrown off track.

Yahaba flips through a bundle of paper next to him, muttering to himself out loud.

“You know, the father is a lawyer. This is about to get problematic even more.”

“An elite?” Kuroo perks up leaning in and peeking into the document.

“Senpai!”, Yahaba calls out exasperatedly before moving the document away, “You will get me fired one day with that habit of yours trying to take information from me.”

Kuroo laughs opening his diary and clicking on his pen to jot down the new information.

“I like it. Everything is perfect about this case.” He moves his hand aggressively across the page with no ink coming out from the pen. “Everything except my pen.”

Yahaba giggles before handing a pen to him.

“Thank you-”, he stops abruptly looking at the pen. It is sleek and made of metal, exquisitely crafted with a very neat blue line running across the silver grip.”-This pen. Does the Tokyo crime division have a secret stash of money now? What’s with this fancy pen?”

“This is not from the department. It’s made by detective Iwaizumi’s husband. He is a metal craftsman and a very good one at that. He gifted it to our squad.”

“A metal craftsman?”

Kuroo’s fingers tighten around the silver pen, the collar around his neck suddenly feeling too tight.

“Yeah. His name is Sachio Akira. Very good looking I must say. "

Iwaizumi’s voice comes from the side as he approaches the duo.

Kuroo smiles bringing his hand down to rest on his thigh. He looks down, admiring the carefully crafted work and runs his index finger over the detailing done on the side.

“Iwaizumi-san, how come you have never gifted me a pen when I’m the one doing the writing part?” He looks up, flashing his cheshire grin as Iwaizumi scoffs before pausing.

“Kuroo-san, if I give you the pen, will you write positively about it on your social media? Akira’s shop needs more promotion.”

“Of course. I will even put it on my story and maybe do some explicit promotion.”

He chortles as Iwaizumi shoves a sleep black card into his hand. On it, written in gold was the address and the name of the shop. 

Where the rising star resides.

Sachio Akira.

_Akira is a pretty name._

Kuroo runs his finger over the embossed letters, his mind wandering.

_Sounds almost like a hurricane._

“But Senpai, why do you talk formally to Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo whips his head up, signally something with his eyes to Yahaba. The junior cheekily ignores and continues much to the growing shock on his senior’s face.

“He is younger than you. At Least by a year. He was born in 1990. Didn't you know?”

Iwaizumi stands there, eyebrows scrunched up in confusion before the realization dawns upon in another second. There is an abrupt lurch as he moves towards to grab Kuroo. 

“I suddenly have an event to cover”, Kuroo jumps up from his seat, grabbing his bag, “Thank you so much for the card. Bye.”

Ducking Iwaizumi’s raised arm, he sidesteps and takes off, power walking towards the door even as Iwaizumi knocks Yahaba’s head.

"Ou-Ouch!"

“You are telling me this now???”

“Where do you think you are running away?”

“Iwaizumi-san, dinner is on me next time. See ya!”

Kuroo calls out, waving his arm and smiling gleefully to himself as he opens the hospital door. It is a chilly night due to the rain the day before and he shivers as he hugs himself, his eyes scanning the parking lot for his car. Spotting the red Toyota, he skips down the stairs when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket.

He tucks his diary under his chin fishing his phone out from the deep trench coat pocket and stares at the unknown caller ID. Cocking his head to one side, he slides the call button bringing it close to his ears.

“Hello?”

There is a resounding silence, enough for him to pick up the cicadas in the park across the street. Eyebrows scrunched, Kuroo takes the phone away from his ears to see if it's connected when a meek voice comes through the static. 

“H-Hello, is this reporter Kuroo?”

“Yes, it is.” Reassured, he jogs towards his car, pressing on his key to unlock it. “May I know who is speaking?”

“I have information for you. Can I please meet you? Ginza Station, 5 pm the day after. I’ll -”

“Wait, wait. Hold up. Information? About what?”

The voice on the other side is rambling, almost as if he is running out of time or running from something, worse, someone.

Kuroo picks up the hesitancy in the tone. And there is something else too. Is it fear?

“Sir, what information do you have?”

“About the Honihara serial murder case.The one you have been covering."

It’s quiet. The sound of static from the phone drowned out by the suffocating stillness that settles inside the car as Kuroo slams the car door shut. He counts to eight in his head as his headlights come on and off, the images in his head becoming blurred. Green canopies, tall, tall trees, mud on the ground, the bells ringing ceaselessly, the crowd swelling in number, the sack, the moving sack- 

“Reporter Kuroo-san, are you there?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I am here.”, Kuroo stares at the white pillar ahead trying to bring back his focus before he gets overwhelmed. “What do you know about the case?”

The breathing on the phone increases in pace before the voice finally speaks again. And when it comes, it comes with a storm of everything Kuroo has been searching for and of everything he had been running from. 

“I know the person. The one you are searching."

_15 years. Summer of 2005._

“I know Oikawa Tooru.”

*

“Yuki, do you want Papa to get you egg tarts for dinner today?”

“Really? Will you buy me?”

Yuki skips a step walking into the kindergarten and turning towards Akira, clapping excitedly. He smiles looking at the way her two ponytails whip around as she excitedly beams at him.

“Yes. But only if you give me a kiss right now before leaving.” He bends down, his left knee coming to a rest on the hard ground as he opens his arms wide beckoning to his daughter. “Come here fast.”

He makes an exaggerated ‘oof’ as she tumbles into his arms giggling and wrapping her short arms around his neck before planting a gentle kiss on his cheeks.

“Papa!”

“Yes?”

“You are my favourite gift in the world!”

Akira laughs loudly as he ruffles her softly before fixing her frock.

“Yes yes, I will get you your egg tarts for dinner. Now go study well okay?”

Elated at having succeeded in getting her father to agree, Yuki doesn’t hesitate before running away, laughing as she does. Her chestnut brown hair bouncing up and down as she turns around and waves at him from the door. Akira watches silently, the smile in his eyes gleaming as the warmth in his chest spreads slowly to his extremities, dulling the demons for a while.

He glances up at the sun peeking through the leaves as he walks slowly out of the compound before taking out his phone and calling Iwaizumi. He chuckles as the phone gets picked up in the second ring itself.

“You must not be busy enough since you are picking up my call so fast.”

“Are you complaining that I picked it up too fast? Should I miss your calls since you’re getting cheeky?” His husband retorts back from the other side earning another chuckle from Akira as he gets into his car and starts up the engine.

“Feisty today aren’t we? I just called to ask if you want me to come pick you up from the station? It might rain today and you left your car at home.”

There’s a flurry of activity on the other side of the call and somebody barks out an order. 

“I don’t think I will be exiting this place any time soon today. I will ask Yahaba-kun to drop me so don’t worry.”

“Fine, then-”

Akira pauses as his husband interrupts from the other end.

“And don’t wait up for me okay? You can just leave the dinner on the table and go off to sleep. Do you know how guilty I feel every time I find you sleeping in the kitchen?”

He can almost hear Iwaizumi muttering and he smiles as he nods absent-mindedly without realizing he can’t see him nodding.

“Okay, I have to go now. Buy something nice for Yuki okay? I love you, bye.”

“Oh alright! See you later. And-”

There is a click from the other side as Iwaizumi hangs up and Akira sighs smiling in defeat. When he is at work, he had to get used to coming second sometimes.

He slides his phone shut as he notices a man standing inside outside his shop, peeping through the glass inside. Pursing his lips, he parks the car startling the man who turns around but he is too busy grabbing his key that he doesn’t notice till he steps out.

“Excuse me, do you know if Sachio-san is around? The shop seems to be closed today?”

The first thought that strikes Akira as he steps out while fixing his coat is the voice is annoying. It is loud and inquisitive, every word sounds like it’s probing and he has an urge to ignore it. The second thought is he forgot to get the egg tart and now he will have to entertain this customer instead of going and buying egg tarts for Yuki. 

He doesn’t like him already.

“Would you like-”

Akira feels the world fall away the moment their eyes meet.

Kuroo blinks as the sun suddenly emerges from behind the opposite building momentarily blinding him. Shielding his face with his arm, he squints at the person, his eyes taking in the lean but well-built before coming to rest on his face. 

He blinks again, feeling the world around him come to a stop. 

His knees buckle on their own as he feels his heart race ahead of him. He is 15 once again and he is in a forest in a village away from Tokyo. There is a boy in front of him and his eyes are unkind and forgiving, the light in them having receded long ago. There are bells ringing, the crowd swells and sways together, there are words and profanities mixed with the humid air of the forest and there is hatred. The boy stands tied to a tree as stones are pelted at him but his eyes remain fixated at Kuroo as if he is saying something. 

As if he is blaming him for something. 

And Kuroo knows. 

Kuroo is sure he knows because he knew back then too why the eyes never left him.

And now he is staring right into those eyes.

Except they are now of darker flecks married with lighter hues, they are now the colour of autumnal hues and the soil in summer, of polished amber in the first rays of dawn and of copper coins. And they almost look warm. 

Almost.

Kuroo watches spellbound as they darken slowly when the man abruptly stops speaking. Somewhere in the distance, sounds of Tokyo afternoon traffic drift into the neighbourhood while they stand there staring at each other, six feet apart and Kuroo swears they can hear each other breathing. He opens and closes his mouth, his mind coming up blank, unable to form words suddenly as he feels his heart beating out of his ribcage.

Hurricane and pretty names. He understands it now.

He flinches when the man suddenly walks briskly past him and practically skips four steps as he climbs up and unlocks the door.

“I’m sorry, the shop is closed today. Please come again-”

It slips out before he can stop himself. It goes and hangs in the air between them, the white building echoing it back to him like bullets ricocheting off the walls.

“Oikawa?”

*

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. The hills remember you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a playlist I made! I'll keep adding songs as we go by, listen   
> [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1NYcqQaV2D83asmCekYUrO?si=0x7N4cmnQrKXYUhL-rQXYw)

  
  


Oikawa tightens his grip on the door handle, one foot already in. 

_After all these years._

_Of all the people._

The odd summer breeze creeps around the corner as they stand there frozen. It’s a tape rolling backward in his head: Yuki laughing as she calls his name, newborn Yuki in his arms with her hand curled around his finger, his wedding with Iwaizumi’s mother holding his hand, proposing to Iwaizumi on that fall afternoon, the day when he found himself smiling looking at his husband- eyes that were the hue of growth, flecks of strength, the one that comes when summer approaches, their first meeting in the cramped convenience store down the street, the rainy night on the highway, the endless run through the jungle with blood spilling from the gaping hole in shoulders, the numbness, the hazy memories and then finally Hinohara. 

There is a dull throb in his heart and it’s an unfamiliar feeling of panic and fear. Fear was never alien to him but panic is like a stranger creeping around his heart. He had never felt it the way he does now, burning his innards and tightening around his heart. Oikawa laughs bitterly inside his head. 

Of all the people to come back and haunt him, it’s fucking Kuroo Tetsurou.

He slowly steps out, his back still facing Kuroo. Glancing around, he takes in the empty streets and shut windows, noting the direction of the CCTV cameras.

“Do you not remember me?”

Kuroo calls out as he fidgets, his fingers visibly trembling while holding his bag strap tightly, wishing his voice would betray him right now and his feet would take him away. As far as they could. 

But they don’t. And he remains rooted to his spot on the road, the heat from the sun long dulled by the searing panic shooting through his body.

“It’s me, Kuroo Tetsurou. Back from Hino-,” he bites down on his tongue as Oikawa turns around, excruciatingly slow in his movement. His soft brown hair has grown longer, the hues altering as the strands curl and move, the soft breeze lifting them up slightly. Age has drawn more lines around his forehead but he is still strikingly beautiful, in a way that gets into people’s bones and makes them stop for a moment. And just like in his memory, the simple frame of his face is so similar to hers.

“It’s really you, Oikawa.” 

His own voice sounds like an executioner’s voice announcing someone’s death sentence. The name is heavy as it rolls off his tongue, sinking down into the tarmac and sticking to the walls and trees around them. It sounds surreal to say it out loud to the person himself, to know that all he needs to do is close the minuscule distance between them and reach his hand out. In the corner of his mind, Kuroo hopes that when he does, this will be an illusion. Oikawa can’t be here and shouldn’t be here.

But this isn’t a mirage in the middle of a desert and he knows like he knows the back of his palm, the eyes, and the way he tilts his head. It’s him in flesh and blood. 

Oikawa sighs, feeling the corners of lips tug upwards in a small smile. 

“What about it?”

It’s an octave lower, his voice. Kuroo feels the gaze passing through the distance between them and settling on him, taking him in, judging him as a hunter does to a prey. He watches in part-fascination, part-unexplainable fright as Oikawa’s eyes almost turns black, his neck tilted in an angle. It is calculating and cold, chilling him to the bones. For a brief moment in time, Kuroo begs in his mind for a person to walk down the street. He has never hated the quietness and isolatedness of elite suburbs as much he does now. 

Forcing himself to swallow his saliva, he laughs nervously scratching his head.

“I asked you something, Kuroo-san.” Oikawa smiles chillingly as he puts his hands inside his pocket and leans slightly on the wall. 

“Oh? Ah, nothing,” fumbling, Kuroo trembles inwardly as he desperately grasps at words in his brain trying to form a sentence coherent enough to get him out of there. “I was just checking if it’s really you.”

_Fuck._

He bites down on his tongue, the dread settling down like a cold metal placed on his skin.To someone else, it would have been insignificant but to Kuroo, it sounded like he wrote his own death as he watches the slight, ever so inconspicuous shift in Oikawa’s expression. It’s one he had seen too many times for his liking, one that he had seen in someone else too. 

_The feral instincts for survival._

He grimaces as he waits for the reply, wondering if today really is a good day to die. Is a pen worth all this? He curses to himself, the phone at the back pocket helplessly too far away for him to discreetly reach and pull out.

“What will you do about it?”

It’s almost mocking, the way he asks his question as if daring Kuroo to answer.

“What if I am Oikawa?”

Kuroo knows there is no right answer for the moment he let Oikawa’s name slip from between his lips, he had altered whatever the heavens had going on for him. He knew too much, had seen too much and had done enough in his lifetime for Oikawa to let him walk away. 

_But it’s been fifteen years._

His eyes travel meekly up to Oikawa’s face, meeting those brown orbs. They hold a past and Kuroo knows he is embedded in it. There are lies built out of truth in them and there are truths morphed into lies. But standing there, mere feet away from him, Kuroo doesn’t want any of it, the truths and the lies. All he understands as the survival instinct kicks in is that he needs to run. Somewhere where Oikawa can’t find him nor the ghost of his father, Oikawa Akio.

“It doesn’t matter to me at all. I am here to meet Akira-san. Detective Iwaizumi’s husband.” He blurts out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Craning his neck, he peeps into the glass door from the distance, all the while exaggerating his movements like a confused, curious fool. “Is he here-?”

“Are you close to Detective Iwaizumi?”

Oikawa abruptly questions the man in front of him, cutting him short. The panic comes in waves now, crawling up his neck and he blinks trying to push back the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. Kuroo looks at him timidly, his shirt now sticking to his body as beads of sweat trickle down his back. 

_Don’t say you are._

Kuroo stumbles over his words as he darts his gaze around rapidly.

“Y-Yes, you can say that.”

The answer settles on his skin as Oikawa squints at the card hanging around Kuroo’s neck. Blue with a line running across its length.

_Fuji Television Network._

_A journalist. Of course._

The ring on his finger suddenly weighs heavier as Iwaizumi’s face passes in front of his eyes, his smile coming to rest in the hollow space of his heart. Shaking slightly, Oikawa suddenly straightens up, taking Kuroo by surprise and forcing him to step back even if there is a considerable gap between them. Blinking once as he recalls the tutorials in his head, he slowly wills his muscle memory to work, watching in sly amusement as Kuroo’s eyes widen. He knows how he looks right now, with his eyes bright and a smile stretched across his face, one that seems to reach his eyes. There but not quite, a professional’s work, an art he has mastered. 

_Acting. Showing what people want to see._

“Tetsurou,” he opens the door with his right hand shifting his body diagonally and making a small gesture of welcoming someone, “Do you want to have some tea?”

Kuroo involuntarily steps back dragging his feet as he desperately holds his knees firm to stop them from buckling. The brunette steps into his house then turns around to look at him, holding his door wide open, the smile still on his face.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it been? Why don’t you come in and I’ll make us both tea.” Oikawa sounds warm, welcoming, hospitable and all the things that he is not in Kuroo’s memory. For a moment, Kuroo lets himself believe in the voice as an image flashes through his mind. 

Another summer, a long time ago. Waves of laughter echoing around the stream as someone splashed water on him, soaking him wet in his school uniform. He was drenched and waist-deep inside the stream, balancing on a slippery rock. Autumn eyes and nimble hands holding him from falling over as a warm voice gently told him to be careful. He was safe then and happy.

“Aren’t you coming in?,” the voice breaks through his memory pulling him back. Kuroo feels his chest constrict as he distinctly registers the voice again feeling like a knife being twisted inside of him, ripping him and his memories apart. Snapping back, he nods weakly as he subconsciously steps forward towards the house. 

Oikawa turns around and disappears into the shop as if he couldn’t care a dime about whether Kuroo is stepping in. Following him quietly, Kuroo steps in keeping the door ajar ever so slightly before slowly approaching the table in the middle. Oikawa is seated on one side, arranging a porcelain blue teapot with two cups, one placed opposite to him for Kuroo. He looks up from his task and gestures towards him to sit, leaning forward and pouring the tea for him.

Pressing his nails into his palms as he wills himself to be calm, Kuroo slides into the chair before looking around nervously. Oikawa picks up his cup and hands it to him, bowing slightly.

“Oh. Thank you,” Kuroo abruptly leans forward, stretching out his arms to receive the drink. He blows air into the cup, fixing his gaze on the small ripples forming in the tea.“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“But you did.” Oikawa deadpans.

Kuroo nods rapidly, the teacup slipping through his fingers even as the hot tea spills over on his fingers.

“Y-Yeah, I did.” He takes a loud sip, his tongue barely registering the scalding hot tea and its bitterness. “We d-did grow up together after all.”

Oikawa gently places his cup down before crossing his arms and leaning back, staring at Kuroo. His face is impassive, the air between them holding some icy hostility even as his eyes remain locked on him.

Clearing his throat, Kuroo runs his finger through his hair, nervously turning around and consciously refusing to meet those eyes.

“Is it hot here today?” He unbuttons his first button before chuckling nervously. “I am sweating quite a lot.”

Outside a car passes, the muffled sound of the engine creeping in through the slightly open window. Kuroo presses his body firmly down on the chair lest he should run and yell and eventually provoke Oikawa’s wrath.

“Is it?”, Oikawa asks, his voice carrying the slightest note of mockery, almost missable, as he looks around imitating Kuroo. “I’m fine.”

Exhaling, Kuroo looks at him, straining to catch the underlying meaning beneath his words. Over the years, Kuroo had picked up the skill to catch on to what’s not being said more than what is being said. It was the core of his job, his skill that he had honed for twelve years to bring out consecutive scoops. Politicians, Corporate leaders, bureaucrats. They hated him only because Kuroo knew too much without knowing at all.

But Oikawa isn’t everyone else. He is a ghost, of the past and the present, non-existent in records and a name not to be uttered for the few hundreds living in Hinohara. There is just him and the names of the dead people whispered together during village gatherings and paper clippings of his childhood photo tucked away in a file of a cold case in the police archive.

And Kuroo, for all the years of working as a journalist, still can’t pick him apart. 

“Am I the only one feeling hot then?” Kuroo shakes his jacket in quick motions, running his tongue over dry lips.

“Could be.”, Oikawa picks up the teapot again and leans forward to pour into Kuroo’s cup. “Or maybe because you are nervous since you are holding yourself back.”

It’s flat, the way he says it. The words slip past his lips like he would wish someone goodnight or introduce himself. There is no accusation and no sharp-edged knives but Kuroo feels it all. The spiteful anger stapling Kuroo to the chair, the slow twist of an unseen knife being placed on his neck, the cold metal grazing his skin, the icy prickles in his tone and the emotions filling up and spilling over the brim of the words so much so that his words sound hollow now. He feels them all.

“What?”

“It’s okay. I know you wanted to ask me since the first second you saw my face.”

Shaking his head nervously, Kuroo stares at him for a minute, the sound of the minute hand of the clock on the wall sending ripples through the silence between them. When it gets suffocating, enough to make Kuroo want to claw his way out, he forcefully lets out a short abrupt laugh.

“No. There isn’t,” he picks up the cup and gulps down the tea before planting a smile on his face. He still knows he isn’t fooling anyone. Not himself. Not Oikawa. “What are you even talking about?”

Pushing the chair back, the legs making an obnoxiously loud grating sound on the floor, Kuroo gets up grabbing his bag.

“I will have to go now. I have an appointment soon. Thank you for the tea.”

He doesn’t wait for the reply as he practically bolts towards the door, almost tripping on his own leg.

“Do you really not want to know? Aren’t you curious at all? You are a reporter.”

Kuroo pauses mid-stride, the tip of his fingers almost brushing the copper handle of the door. 

“Ask me. Tetsurou.”

Fear sits on Kuroo, like a pillow over his mouth and nose. It’s crippling, the way it winds its creepers around his legs as if tying him to the room. Wide-eyed, he looks outside for a moment, his fingers now wrapped tightly around the handle. The sun is slowly setting, casting long shadows over the white walls of the building. It’s a chilling silence engulfing the block, not a soul in sight. Just him, the vast expanse of safety on the other side of the pinewood six feet tall door and Oikawa Tooru behind him, sitting calmly on his chair. He doesn’t even budge an inch from his position and Kuroo can feel his eyes trained on his back for he knows. He knows Kuroo will come back. He knows he can’t resist what he is offering. 

And rightfully so,he turns around slowly, his fingers slowly letting go of the now warmed handle and his eyes capturing the last dredges of light outside in his memory. Dragging himself slowly, Kuroo walks towards the table for the second time that day, clasping his hands together tightly to stop the incessant trembling.

Sighing, he looks at the brunette who is watching him with an unusual amused look in his eyes.

“Just so we are clear-,”he starts off firmly, urging his voice to sound stable, “-I don’t believe in anything until it has been fact-checked.”

Impassive. The other one remains unmoving, casually leaning back. His face is slightly angled up as if almost looking down on Kuroo. It is an incredibly overwhelming feeling of being insignificant, of being insufferably nothing to him. Kuroo almost chokes on his own memories even as his mouth moves on its own accord, the words tumbling out.

“Which is why the rumours around you are still very much like an illusion to me. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

He probes his face for a sign but all he gets is a raised eyebrow as Oikawa leans forward, resting his arms on the table. Picking up his own teacup, he takes a sip before gesturing with his eyes to continue.

Swallowing his saliva, Kuroo quickly runs his tongue over his dry lips before stuttering out his next words.

“In the village, fifteen years ago, I mean, the day you ra-, disappeared. There was a murder. The village headman was found dead, his throat slit open.”

It is an unfamiliar stillness that sinks between them, the one that blankets a town before the hurricane erupts in its destructive glory, the one that covers the street in front of Oikawa’s old house in Hinohara now. Kuroo counts in his head, the seconds that tick by as Oikawa sits unmoving. The window blinds throw a long shadow over his face now, the subtle hues of his eyes gleaming in the darkness fast spreading around the room in the twilight. 

_56 seconds. 57. 58,59-_

“So?” 

Kuroo feels the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he bites down on his lips, his chipped off, uneven nails digging into his palms. The words are on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked.Rotating his shoulder in a show of pseudo confidence, he leans forward to match Oikawa’s eye level, inwardly flinching at the lack of breathing space between them.

“Did your disappearance have anything to do with the murder?”

Too close for comfort, close enough for Kuroo to realize there is no change in the way Oikawa is breathing. It’s the same as it was ten seconds ago, ten seconds before he implicitly accused him of murder. It’s even, his chest heaving up and down almost too normally. He stared back at Kuroo with the same look he would give to a stranger, a flashing billboard, a child, or food placed on the table. Just ordinary, just enough for society, a perfect actor.

“Do you want me to deny it?,” Oikawa inches in closer,placing his chin on his hand as if contemplating, “There’s no point in denying though. You have already established the truth, haven’t you? You, the village, everyone else.”

He sneers as he inhales before looking around and leaning back.

“But the murder weapon was found in your school bag. Why did you run away? Why are you still wanted? If you are innocent, should you not cooperate with the police and clear your name?”

The words tumble out of his mouth and it's only when the deafening roar of silence answers him that he realizes his folly. The man suddenly sits up, lips pursed. Kuroo stiffens as Oikawa squints at him, tilting his head, the lines on his forehead explicitly visible now.

“How-,” the words come out forcefully, each emphasized and stretched, “-do you know I’m still wanted?”

It’s numbing, the way his senses suddenly activate, adrenaline being pumped into him like on an intravenous drip. Kuroo grips his thighs, eyes darting around as he scrambles for a response.

“Tha-That? I heard it from somewhere. You know I am a reporter…”

Getting up abruptly, he turns around in full swing, his heart threatening to crash out from his ribcage, the sound blocking out all other white noises in the room.

“Are you going to go to the police station now? Will you tell them you found Oikawa Tooru, son of the serial killer, Oikawa Akio? The psychopath, damaged son who murdered the village head in Hinohara 15 years ago. Will you, Tetsurou?”

His name falls from Oikawa’s lips, like a premonition, an-hour-too-late advice.

Mustering up a smile that fools no one with the way his hands are trembling, Kuroo turns back around and forces himself to face his predator.

“Why would I?” A tinge of nonchalant tone or an attempt.

“ I have no interest in other people’s affairs. Don’t worry, I don’t care enough.”

“Really?” 

There is that smile again, empty but so perfectly sitting well on his face, convincing enough for all.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Oikawa leans back, “ Then why don’t we talk about you now?”

“Me?” 

Kuroo laughs nervously, scratching his head, suddenly lost with the change. It’s an unshakeable feeling of Oikawa silently whispering checkmate in the invisible chess game they had been playing for the past one hour.

“I have nothing going on to talk about.Nothing interesting, you know.”

Nodding his head, Oikawa raises his left eyebrow as if he is teasing.

“You aren’t married yet?”

His knees buckle on their own as Kuroo holds the pillar next to him,thrown off by the alarm bells going off his head. 

“N-Not yet. Being single is more convenient for a person like me. You know?”

He tries to nonchalantly shrug, standing up straighter.

“I should really get going then.”

“You write for a weekly newspaper right?”

“That’s really nothing,” he gives a careless half-grin, half-grimace, waving his questions off. “I’ll see you around then.”

The cold, metal handle beckons to him for the umpteenth time today, the warm glow from the streetlight outside now filtering in through the giant glass windows giving it a glistening glow. Breathing manually, Kuroo forces himself to hide the desperation within the pace of his walk as he approaches the door.

Three more steps. He will be out of this place. Two more. He can run, yell or even call him a murderer. One mo-

“Then,” Oikawa calls out silently,his voice bouncing gently off the walls and coming to rest on Kuroo’s shoulders. “you must have flexible working hours.”

Kuroo feels his king fall on the chessboard.

_Checkmate._

*

**4 hours ago.**

Sachio Yui stared at the car stopping in front of her shop, the colour too well engraved in her memory. She didn’t have to look at the person stepping out from the driver’s seat to guess who it could be, there was the eerie perfection in the way the car had slid to a stop and parked silently. It was too precise, too methodical, a haunting reminder of what practice can do to a man.

Clearing her throat nervously, she stood straighter, resting her arms on the counter with fingers clasped to hide the nervous tremors. She didn’t bother looking up as the doorbell chimed, her eyes fixed on the pair of sleek black shoes walking in a rhythmic manner, neither too fast nor too slow, all too calculated. They came to a rest in front of her and she caught a whiff of the same scent she had been accustomed to for years in her house. 

The news playing on the television at the back filled up the empty silence between them as Yui waited for him to make the first move. And rightfully so, a black phone was placed on the counter quietly, the screen displaying a caller ID.

Yui stared at the name, unable to say it out loud. It was disorienting, the way her heartbeat quickened almost to the brink of leaping out of her chest everytime the name came to rest on her tongue. Unable to bring herself to utter it, she stayed shut clamping her lips shut.

“Call him, mother.”

“What?”

Yui’s eyes snapped up, her body leaning precariously over the counter as she stared at her son. It was an unspoken entitlement,the way she shoved herself into his space, like flyers shoved into your face on the streets or cigarette smoke of the stranger filling up your lungs. But it was a well-earned, well-deserved entitlement.

“Call him.”

Oikawa repeated, in a flat tone, his eyebrows raised as he stared back at her, unflinching. After all these years, she knew somewhere in the fathomless pit of denial, she could never win against Oikawa. He had never been one to back down anyway.

“Wh-why should I? What do I talk to him about?,” Yui questioned, the bewildered look in her eyes growing with every moment as she slammed the counter-top with her palm, “I told you I despise everything about your husband.”

And despise, she did. Iwaizumi Hajime was Yui’s nightmare, his existence was her fire and brimstone, her abyss waiting. Since the day he turned up in front of her house, eyes wide and the smile all too eager for her approval. There was a chasm far too wide between him and her family and the skeletons in her family’s closet. They were far too tainted for him and Yui had been ballistic the moment she had laid her eyes on the ring gracefully sitting on his finger. She wanted to tell him then.

_Run, Iwaizumi. Before you turn your soul black trying to make his white. Run._

Standing dumbfounded now, she couldn’t, for the miserable existence of hers, understand why she had to call him.

“That is why-,” Oikawa calmly answered, without missing a beat, “-you should call him and tell him that. Stop giving him hope that one day you will welcome him.”

“So you want me to call him and make a fuss? Is that what you want?”

Yui scoffed trying to hide the trembling in her voice, as she runs her fingers through her hair.

“Hajime thinks you will come around. You can also see that he keeps trying harder to gain your approval,” Oikawa raises his eyebrows nodding at her as if to ensure that she is getting what he is saying. “But you would never give it. So call him and make sure he doesn’t expect anything from you.”

“So you mean to--Are you trying to cut off connections between us and your family?,” her tone was rising now, risking passers-by to peer in through the glass window. 

“Isn’t that safer?”

Oikawa tilted his head, leveling his gaze as he dared her to counter.

Exhaling deeply,Yui snatched her phone up and opened the contacts list. Thumbing down the list, she muttered incoherently, her vision becoming blurry as the increasing feeling of exasperation threatened to overwhelm her. She knew her husband and Oikawa both saw her as the crumbling line of defense to all that laid hidden within the four walls of their house.But that didn’t mean this kid could blatantly--infuriated, she hurled the phone across before throwing her hands up. The phone hit the white wall with a thud, disturbing the medicines piled up on the adjacent cabinet. Pacing for a few seconds, the deafening silence quickly filled up the room and it wasn’t the first time she had heard silence this loud. 

Immediately turning around, she grabbed Oikawa by his collar, her grip inches away from turning into a noose around his neck. Or a single press on his carotid arteries. She was a doctor after all.

“I have a right over your life,” yelling, she shook him, “Do you not remember that anymore? I have a right to decide what I will do.”

Yui tightened the grip, her finger clamped with his collar bunched up in her fist. The realization hit her seconds later, as her son stood there, unmoving and rooted, not a single tensed muscle visible. He was calm, in the most unsettling manner and the realization washed over her in cold blue, freezing the beating heart inside her.

If she was a doctor capable of killing, she was going to be his next creation. 

Pupils dilating, Yui willed her fingers to move, trying to pull herself away from him as she saw his arms move, hands slowly being raised towards her. Outside, a car honked passing by and the cry died in her throat as she looked at him. He was smiling.

Her knees buckled on her own as his face softened, eyes unwavering while placing his hands over hers and he gently pried her fingers off. Slowly he raised her hand up, the warmth of his body seeping in through and planted a kiss at the back of her palm, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Mother, I know you own my existence,” he whispered.

And as if as an afterthought, he smiled to himself and leaned in to mumble his words, letting them fall softly between them lest the wind creeping in through the slightly ajar door should scatter it and let the world know. 

“As long as I live as Sachio Akira.”

Yui trembled underneath the warmth of his hands, stepping back involuntarily. If Oikawa noticed it, he simply let her hands fall before turning slightly towards the fallen phone. Walking slowly towards it, he lifted it and placed it on the counter.

“You don’t ever want Hajime to find out, right?,” his voice was gentle, eyes unreadable with a hint of a smile that came and vanished. “Then make the call, mother.”

And just like that, he was out of the shop, his retreating figure casting long shadows even in broad daylight. Yui crumpled, knees giving out, as she leaned back against the counter wall. Holding her hands, she stared at them, the smile on Oikawa’s face buried in her memory. There was nothing warm in them. He was cold, so cold, unlike his eyes of ichor and warm autumnal haze. 

Everything he did was calculated, from the way he called her mother to the way he kissed her hand. There was nothing real but Yui didn’t know where the lie ended and the truth began in Oikawa. He was the personification of her damnation and redemption, a nauseating paradox. But that wasn’t what terrified her.

It was his voice.

It was his voice when he uttered his husband’s name.

There was nothing more chilling than the undertones of love in the voice of a serial killer.

  
  


*

Kuroo shifts from one leg to another, his feet long gone cold in sheer panic, as he looks at Oikawa’s back in the corner of the room. His movements are deft as he picks up a hammer and bangs it on the table before keeping it next to the silver blade. The vinyl record player has been turned on a few minutes ago, an orchestral piece drifting throughout the room and filling up the empty crevices and silence.

He flinches as Oikawa picks up a metal object, one that seems heavy, before placing it next to his carefully laid-out tools. The dredges of the setting sun, of fire hearths and sepia tones,fall on the metals sending out glares momentarily blinding him every few seconds.

“Ya, Oikawa,” Kuroo quietly calls out, trying to keep his voice stable, “You don’t have to do all that. I don’t need gifts and all.”

“It’s a bribe.” 

The brunette deadpans and turns around, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m giving it so that you don’t tell anyone about meeting me here.”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Kuroo feels a cold pit settle in his stomach at the same time his earlier paranoia dissipates a little.

“Ah-ah,” he waves his hands frantically, a little too much at that, “I won’t tell anyone. I can keep a secret well.”

If Oikawa picks up the subtle reference to the past they share, he doesn't give any hint of it, his expression perfectly controlled.

“Kuroo-kun, why don’t you come here and write down your address on this?,” he taps his finger on a sheet placed on the table before holding out a pen, “I will send this by parcel service.”

The raven-haired man stands there for an odd minute, staring at the sheet in the distance and it’s only when his feet start moving towards it on their own that he feels the chill settle in more, the rays of the setting sun now falling on his skin through the blinds doing nothing to warm him. Somewhere in his head, he is in the dark room all over again, the same instincts to run whispering desperately to him.

But he is here and he is walking towards where Oikawa is standing. He is here and the door to the world outside goes further away from him with every step and Kuroo feels a defeat settling in even as he tells himself that it’s all okay.

He is just going to write his address down and leave.

Trembling, he gives a half-hearted pathetic attempt of a smile to Oikawa before sitting down. Pressing down the paper flat, he takes the pen. 

Watching him uncap the pen, Oikawa quietly steps away and walks slowly towards his window, his eyes giving nothing away. Outside, a woman walks past unaware of the hurricane of a buried past wrecking havoc inside the shop. He smiles at her before sliding his fingers up to feel the button and pressing down on it slightly, letting the blinds slowly draw shut plunging the corner of the room into darkness. 

“B-by the way, where is Sachio-san?” Kuroo calls out from the other end of the room without turning around. Glancing quickly at him, Oikawa moves again.

There is no answer given to the question as he reaches out and turns the lock of the door, the click resounding in the silence in his head, but drowned out by the music playing next to Kuroo. The wooden floor creaks slightly under his weight as he walks across the room towards Kuroo’s end, hands in his pocket. The other one is running his hand over the object and even from a distance, Oikawa picks up the tremors in his fingers, the back of his shirt wet from the sweat dripping down his neck.

He ducks his head, slowly unplugging the wires and turning off the CCTV cameras in the room. In his head, he counts the seconds before the orchestra picks up its pace, imagining the conductor move as he hums inaudibly. 

Kuroo picks up the pen cap, looking at his address one more time before proceeding to put the cap on the pen. He purses his lips as he strains his eyes to make out his handwriting. Squinting in confusion, he leans closer towards the paper. It isn’t that he has bad handwriting but there suddenly just isn’t enough light now, a shadow fallen on the sheet making his words merge into the lines. He straightens up, a confused look passing through his eyes.

The white paper looks ashen grey now, the slanting rays of the sun having faded. Frowning he glances up and looks around before noticing that the shadows around the room are no longer there now, like the light has been blocked out. Clicking his tongue impatiently, Kuroo takes out his phone, turning on the flashlight to double-check the address when his ears suddenly twitch. 

It’s another millisecond before the realization hits him. Another pause before he feels his chest constrict in such intense panic unknown to him before.

The music.

It’s everywhere. 

Earlier, it was racing around the room filling up spaces but now, it sounds like all the spaces have been filled and it's spilling, the vibrations threatening to drown him and his existence out. It’s deafening and utterly silent at the same time as if there are just him, the room and the music in that space and he feels even further away from the world outside. The ascending, haunting sound of the orchestral rips through the air and threatens to choke the air around him, making him involuntarily spring up from the chair gulping down the saliva stuck in his throat.

It’s loud. Obnoxiously loud. Like someone has placed it on full volume to drown out everything else in the space. Like-

Kuroo blinks.

_That’s cold._

The sharp edge slowly presses on his skin, resting precariously on top of his carotid artery, the cold touch sending chills down his spine. His breath stops midway as the knife slowly turns, grazing his skin and teasing him to make a move. 

“W-What-,” Kuroo whispers, stammering over each syllable, “-are you doing?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels a sharp slash, barely touching deep but enough to let him feel the trickle of blood come out from the side of his neck and stain his collars.

He feels Oikawa slowly creep in closer, his hot breath running down the nape of his neck as he leans in.

“What do you think, Tetsurou?”

Kuroo whimpers as he grabs Oikawa’s wrist meekly trying to pry them off.

“You don’t have to do this,” he yells out hoarsely, the rising panic making it harder to utter the words. “I promise, I promise I won’t say a word about you. Oikawa, listen to-”

He doesn’t get to complete his words as he feels Oikawa’s arms wrap around his neck and squeeze his throat making his knees buckle. Kuroo stumbles backward before desperately clawing at his arm, fingernails digging deep into the skin even as a strangle scream leaves him. The chair crashes on the floor, reverberating in the small space even as the vibration of the music drowns them both out. Tumbling, they roll in the narrow space between the wall and the table, Kuroo kicking his legs wildly as he thrashes and bucks. He hears Oikawa grunt as he pins him down, wrapping his legs around Kuroo and keeping from wriggling out.

Kuroo desperately reaches out his hand for the vase next to him, his face colour changing into a sickening one as he gasps for air. The leaves come within grazing distance of his fingers before Oikawa turns him away and uses his other arm to press down on the one wrapped around Kuroo’s throat.

“Didn’t you-,” he grunts again, whispering into his ears even as Kuroo’s vision blurs, “-know I am a murderer?”

Kuroo screams silently, slapping Oikawa’s arms as he feels his lungs burn, his mind going hazy with every gasp.

Oikawa only tightens his grip more, wrapped like tendrils around Kuroo’s neck as he feels the resistance weaken, Kuroo’s fingers on his wrist becoming feeble. He exhales heavily as the gasps become more ragged, the whites of Kuroo’s eyes becoming visible as he rolls his head back and the younger man stops wiggling slowly. His legs weakly kick out for the last time before they become still, outstretched in an awkward position.

Kuroo’s right arm falls to the side,his now heavy body slipping away and Oikawa releases his hold, coming to rest on his back.His chest heaves up and down as he tries to bring his heart rate down. He sniffs, the sweat dripping down his forehead, the adrenaline receding away to his extremities leaving nothing but the silence of the room. The orchestra has ended and he feels like a conductor having put on his show, except there is no audience and no resounding applause, just two bodies, one limpid and one moving. 

He looks at the man next to him, sickeningly pale and unmoving and mouth wide open.

_You shouldn’t have found me, Kuroo._

_Shouldn’t have searched for me._

After all, Oikawa Tooru is a psychopath, rumour-diagnosed and a perfect mimic.

He closes his eyes, letting the slight breeze creeping in from beneath the door cool his skin. 

Somewhere in the dark, his phone buzzes. Two pings. Only one person in his life texted like that, her small fingers typing in his name and a sticker. Smiling, Oikawa gets up, dusting his pants.

Time to go buy egg tarts now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long to update but the university has been kicking my ass and I finished this only because I managed to complete 1 academic paper out of the 8 I have to submit. But thank you for reading and waiting, I hope you liked it. It's tough to write Oikawa like this but lmao, i know it will get tougher later for me. there is a lot of characterisation involved and back stories so i hope i manage it. Comments are highly appreciated and if you want, please share it. until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't think I would be writing another Iwaoi fic this year. With college and things in my personal life, I really dreaded opening the damn google doc and even typing in 100 words. But this drama absolutely left me amazed and I had to write it no matter what so here I am. I really wish to continue this although it might be a long-term commitment, one that I'm admittedly terrible at. However, I'll give it my best shot. With every fic of mine, I try to work on areas that I know I am weak at, and even though I'm not great at it yet, thank you for coming here and reading this. Hoping to see you for the next chapter too.  
> Much love.


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